


Rub It In

by EntreNous



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, M/M, Massage, Undercover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-06-05
Updated: 2007-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**AU**  Working undercover at an exclusive gym to discover an international drug ring is tough, especially when some of the informants are hot British guys lying naked on massage tables, waiting to be rubbed down with oil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had more planned for this fic way back when I started posting it as a charity fic written to thank someone for a donation to the Red Cross. But the person who made the donation never commented on the fic, life happened, and well, I have absolutely no plans to continue it, so: 
> 
> Please note I've tagged this particular story "Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued". I'm including it with my other archived items on AO3 in part for completion's sake, and in part because if anyone is hoping to find a fic with these characters and this set of tropes, well, here it is, unfinished though it may be. Thank you.

Xander paused in the free weight room, lingering while Riley wrapped up a session with a client.

“See you in two days, Tony,” Riley said. “Don’t forget to do those stretches in the meantime.”

“You’re a good kid, Riley,” Tony pronounced. He lumbered off to the steam room, mopping at his sweaty face with a towel.

“How’d the session with Tony go?” Xander asked in a careless tone as he picked up an attachment to one of the weight machines and propped it against the wall.

“Pretty good.” Riley kept his eyes focused on his clipboard as he jotted down some notes. “Now that he’s in three times a week, I’ve got him up to five sets of ten reps with the forties on the bicep curls.”

Xander glanced around the now-empty room and took a step closer. “Reps as in actual reps, or reps being code for . . .” He closed with a talky-mouth gesture with his hand.

Riley grimaced and pulled him out the side door into the adjacent alley.

“What, what’d I say?” Xander exclaimed when Riley shut the door.

“If you could keep up with your homework, and get the code straight, that’d be really helpful, okay?” Riley hissed.

“Maybe if the code didn’t keep changing every other day, I could do that,” Xander countered.

Riley leaned against the brick wall and looked up, like he was expecting to find patience in the clouds. “You know that’s because Davis figured out the showers were bugged. And when Chase did a sweep, she found out pretty much every room has got one or more devices in them.”

“Wow. With the bugs put in by our guys, and the ones planted by their guys, it’s pretty impressive this place’s conversations aren’t getting broadcast on satellite radio,” Xander observed.

Riley grabbed his arm and walked them a few paces further from the door. “Do you want transferred off this assignment? Because I can talk to the chief. If you’re not on board, I’ll do it. I can’t have you screwing this up.”

“No, it’s -- look, I’m sorry,” Xander said. Riley so rarely pulled rank on him that it was always a little embarrassing for both of them when it happened. They’d become really good friends in the past year while they had worked on two separate cases together, and no way did he want to go back to the days when Riley was always serious around him. “I don’t mean to be a jerk. It’s just that we’ve been here for a month, and I haven’t gotten a single piece of information on this overseas connection the Giacametti gang supposedly has. I’m starting to think that we should --”

“Hey, guys,” Larry said as he came out to join them in the alley. “Man, I hate Monday mornings, huh?” He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall next to Riley.

“Yeah, well. I’ve got to get back; I have a 10:30 with Frankie Marconi,” Riley turned to give Xander a significant look that Larry couldn’t see. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

They both watched him go. Xander was about to make his own excuses when Larry asked, “So what’s up with you and Riley?”

Xander stared. “What? Nothing. Things are very not up with us.”

“Oh, come on. They hire the two of you together, like, four weeks ago even though Manny’s never added more than one trainer at a time before. And you’re always hanging out together, whispering and stuff, like you’ve got this huge secret. Just now, before he took off, he gave you such a once-over, like he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you. So, how long have you guys been boning?”

“Me and Riley?” Xander tried not to squeak out the last word. Not that he didn’t appreciate guys -- and okay, so he’d had more than his fair share of all-about-the-sex short semi-relationships with men in between longer relationships with women. But Riley was not only his superior, he was like a brother. The whole idea was gross.

Not to mention, Riley was straighter than an arrow, and would have turned Xander down flat. “No, you’ve got it all wrong.”

Larry stubbed his cigarette against the wall. “So what you’re saying is that Riley’s available.”

While Xander did his best fish-impression, opening and closing his mouth several times in succession, Larry turned to look at the direction Riley had gone in. “Because I’ve got to say, if you’re not already on that, I so am. He has got one fine --”

“Don’t you have a 10:30?” Xander interrupted hastily. When he’d glanced at the appointment book earlier that morning, it seemed like everyone else but him was booked for that slot.

Larry glanced at his watch and frowned. “I do. Massage client. Total and utter prick, this guy. I’ve worked on him two times before now, and it was all I could do not to wring his skinny little neck. I swear, those English guys think they’re such hot shit. It’s the accent.”

“Wow, that’s rough,” Xander said in a sympathetic voice. Then he coughed. “Did you say English guy? As in . . . international type guy?”

“Yeah, he’s a Brit,” Larry confirmed. “An asshole with an accent who thinks he’s better than me. Last time, he started going on . . .” Larry sighed. “Well, I might as well get started with him, get it over with.”

Larry took a step away, and Xander sputtered, “Well, you know, if it’s a thing, if you want, I could take the appointment with jerky British guy, if it’d help you out. . .”

“Yeah?” Larry grinned. “You’re all right, Harris.”

“Just trying to do my part for the team,” Xander said, nodding several times to emphasize his incredibly helpful nature.

* * *

Xander hurried down the corridor to the massage rooms.

Most of the gym was no-nonsense: plain rooms, converted-warehouse walls and windows, your basic eggshell white everywhere except for the black machines and weights. Sure, the equipment was top of the line, and all the trainers were really skilled. But despite the incredibly high membership fees for the personal-trainer-only fitness center, the general vibe was definitely Joe Gym.

The massage rooms, though, were something else entirely. That was where the fact that this place was way harder to get into than some of the most elite country clubs sunk in. The whole area reminded Xander of a deluxe spa for women -- low, soft lighting; warm accents with blonde mahogany floors, and subtle rich hues on the walls, soundproofed for maximum privacy with different options for music or white-noise type sounds if the clients chose them. There was even a trickling fountain in the waiting area, with teak benches and lush green plants. It was like Zen for the wealthy.

He’d heard that some of the clients wanted an old school massage, the kind you’d imagine Rocky Balboa getting. But all the ones he’d had appointments with so far had asked for the newfangled stuff like deep tissue or shiatsu or some other kind like hot stone or reiki assessment they’re read about in their in-flight magazine on the way back from Sicily.

Xander knew who he was dealing with; these were rough guys, most of them criminals. But from what he saw, they were sort of girly where the whole massage thing was concerned.

He took a breath outside the room where Larry’s 10:30 was waiting. If this guy was the one acting as the international connection that he and Riley had been trying to find, this would be more than just hitting pay dirt on the Giacametti gang. They could be finding the chain of contacts for a drug-running ring that snaked from California to Europe and all through Asia. He just had to make sure to treat everything carefully; he couldn’t even begin to imagine how dangerous it would become for them and for a host of other people if they managed to blow the thing wide open.

When he pushed open the door, he stopped short. The guy was already on top of the table, stretched out naked with his cheek pillowed on his folded arms, only the standard towel on his ass keeping him from being completely exposed. He was thin and not so tall, but all muscle and angles and milky white skin. And he was utterly gorgeous, punk blonde hair, pink pouty lips, long lashes brushing his china-pale skin that opened to reveal beautiful blue eyes.

Xander’s eyes scanned his body, darting from his sculpted back to his strong looking legs to the completely biteable ass. He clutched the clipboard he held in his hands and tried not to whimper.

“Well?” The man half-turned on the table, scowling. “I haven’t got all day. So get over here and get your hands on me!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **AU** Working undercover at an exclusive gym to discover an international drug ring is tough, especially when some of the informants are hot British guys lying naked on massage tables, waiting to be rubbed down with oil.

“Right, sure,” Xander said quickly to the client waiting for his massage. “Where do you want me on you? I mean, my hands on you. I mean --”

The man shifted to take another look at him, and narrowed his eyes. “Hey. You’re not that big lug who usually works me over.”

“No, that’d be Larry. I’m . . . uh . . .” His gaze swept over the man’s body, which was so not helping him remember his name. “Xander,” he finally said in a triumphant voice.

The man shot him another look, and for a moment Xander had no clue what the guy might do next. But it definitely fell on a spectrum of scariness between yelling at him and jumping on him to twist and snap his neck.

Instead, suddenly he gave Xander a toothy grin and stuck his arm out for hand-shaking. “Spike.”

“Spike. Pleased to meet you, Spike,” Xander said as he shook the offered hand with both of his. A beat passed before he could get it through his head to let go.

“I like you, Xander,” Spike announced with another shark like smile. He pulled his arm back and stretched as he lay on the table, lifting the towel covering from his backside just a little with the motion. “Now be a good boy, do me up right, and you won’t make me change my mind.”

“Right.” Xander rubbed his hands together. “So. You want a basic massage, or something more --”

“Just get on with it,” Spike snapped, and Xander bobbed his head in agreement even though Spike was facing the other direction.

He almost tripped as he spun around to get the oil, and then hurriedly began slapping it on his hands. He’d logged tons of hours in massage training to prepare for this operation, and he’d rubbed down so many people as part of that he couldn’t even begin to remember names and faces. Until now, he’d never acted the babbling stammering idiot he’d been since he’d walked in the room and seen Spike.

 _Nerves_ , he told himself. It was just nerves from the possibility that Spike was the key to cracking the case. Nothing at all to do with the fact that Spike was lying on the table looking like a sex god incarnate.

“Quit muttering to yourself,” Spike advised. Xander jumped in shock, but managed to turn it into a jaunty little leap getting back over to the massage table.

“I’m just going to start with your calves.” He rubbed his hands again to warm the oil on them and then began kneading Spike’s legs.

For a few moments, there was only the sound of flesh against flesh, the slide and groove of slick rubbing, the thick echo of oil worked into muscles, the noises of pressing and rubbing and caressing and stroking . . .

Xander shook his head to clear it before he moaned.

Then Spike moaned, a low rich sound full of darkness and promise, and Xander’s toes curled right up.

“That’s just lovely,” Spike said in a hoarse voice. “There’s talent in your hands, yeah? Come on now, don’t be shy; really give me what you’ve got.”

Xander swallowed and shifted to Spike’s thighs, biting his lip as Spike let out a shuddering breath.

“That’s it, that’s right, nice and slow like that,” Spike murmured.

And it went on like that. When Xander manipulated the pressure points on Spike’s shoulders, Spike made the best sex noises that had yet to reach Xander’s ears. When he stroked quickly along Spike’s lower back to loosen the muscles there, Spike practically purred as he pushed back into the light pressure.

The room felt crazy hot. A couple of times, Xander had to use a hand towel to dab at his sweaty forehead, but there was nothing he could do about his hard on. At least Spike wasn’t getting a view of much besides Xander’s sneakers. Even so, Xander was getting more than a little freaked out by how much he wanted to leap on top of Spike and finish rubbing the oil in using his body instead of his hands.

He tried to think back to his training to remember if there were any tricks for dealing with wanting to sex up your massage client and/or potential informant. Sure, it had happened a few times before, that he’d gotten an erection when he was starting his massage training as part of his covert ops persona. Everyone said that it was perfectly normal at the outset, when your brain hadn’t yet processed the line in the sand between giving someone a massage and getting your hands on someone’s body for sexy times.

But that had been when he’d just begun learning. For the later part of his training, and definitely since he’d worked at the gym for this assignment, he’d pretty much been too focused to get aroused. He was either under the spell of prodding and loosening knots of muscles, or oh-so-casually trying to turn the conversation to his client’s sources of frustration so they’d start to open up to him with information.

Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have assumed he was past getting hot from rubbing someone down. Most of the men at the gym fell in the late middle age to older range, and nearly all of them had big bellies, barrel chests, and definitely reminded him a bit too much of his Uncle Rory. Spike was in a completely different category, and someone would have to be an android with every sexual urge file completely erased not to react to him.

Of course, while he was thinking all that, he had gone over every bit of Spike but his towel-covered rump.

“Just go ahead and take it off,” Spike encouraged him. “I want to feel those great big hands of yours working me over.”

“I’ll just -- under the towel,” Xander stammered. He slid his fingers up and -- he couldn’t help himself -- _squeezed_.

Luckily Spike let out a long loud groan; otherwise, he would definitely have heard Xander’s appreciative gasp.

Xander quickly decided that Spike’s ass was a perfect example of its kind. Smooth, just plump enough to round nicely into his palms, but firm and, no question, made for stroking. As he kneaded and rubbed, the towel hitched up little bit by little bit until he could see the curve of Spike’s light soft skin exposed, as well as the pink marks from where his own fingers had pressed there.

His hips had started to tilt forward slightly, almost like a homing device zeroing in on its destination. God, that ass . . . He held his breath as he imagined Spike laid out on a sumptuous spread in the middle of a green field, sunshine making the dusting of blond on his body glow in a golden haze that highlighted every muscle and sinew to perfection. As the scene came into focus in his head he could almost hear the swell of accompanying music.

“So I’ll turn over now, and you can get to work on the other side.” Before Xander could respond, Spike had flipped himself over.

And hey, there was something else swelling besides the song in Xander’s brain, because Spike’s cock was hard, too.

“Let me, uh . . .” Xander dangled a towel over Spike’s midsection with a shaking hand.

“Don’t mind if you go without.” Spike had already closed his eyes.

 _Yeah, but *I* mind_ , Xander wanted to say. Except for the part where he didn’t mind at all. But that wasn’t right either. He couldn’t waste time gaping at Spike’s tight little body, and his thick luscious prick, and wonder how it would feel to press against all that with his own clothes off.

With a pang, he dropped the towel to cover Spike up. He had to stop thinking about Spike’s ass; instead, he should be finding out of Spike’s was the ass of an international gangster.

“So, you new in town?” Xander asked. Maybe it was a crappy opening, but it was the best he could manage, given that he was staring at the outline of Spike’s hard-on pressing against the towel and rubbing his fingers along Spike’s creamy, muscular arms and chest.

Spike smiled, as though he liked that question, even if he kept his eyes shut. “Been around for a bit,” he answered after a pause. “Now, you, you’re new. I know I haven’t seen you before, or I’d have found out when your shifts take place long ago.”

“Oh, I’ve worked here for a few weeks, not too long.” _Ask him if he’s a regular massage client_ , he told himself. _Get him talking about any stress and tension he’s got, and about all those big urgent drug deals that are making him cranky and in need of rub downs_.

Instead, he let the silence lapse for a time as he ran his hands up and down along Spike’s torso. When he finally did speak, the words that came out were, “Your skin’s so soft.”

He had to force his head down so that he didn’t steal a glance in the direction of the tiny microphone positioned in the never-watered flowering cactus plant. When Supervisor Wood ever heard this session . . .

Or maybe Wood was listening right now, observing Xander wasn’t hinting to Spike much of anything about his mob ties, and wondering what the hold up was. At that thought, Xander’s fingers flexed and tightened on Spike’s shoulders. _Ask him more_ , he told himself. _Start building trust so he’ll open up to you later._

“Like that, do you?” Spike asked, his voice low. “You like doing all of this, don’t you? Like how it feels?”

It seemed better not to answer that, especially when Spike opened his blue eyes to watch him intently.

“We done here?” Spike asked at last.

“Yeah, uh -- it’s been the full session time.” Xander checked the nearly hidden abstract clock on the wall, and reluctantly raised his hands to grab a towel to give Spike.

“You sure we’re done?” Spike laced his fingers behind his neck and then ever so slightly rolled his hips up. The towel folded back onto his taut abdomen, and his erection was again completely exposed. “I was just wondering . . . if you wanted to give this a happier ending.”

Xander was positive gym policy would require him to report a client soliciting him, and that his under cover team would want to know about it pronto too. Then again, it had never come up before, probably because everyone assumed that in this all-guys situation, macho manly space that it was despite the girly massage center, all sexy thoughts the clients had were of wives or mistresses instead of the male trainers.

But at the very least, he should be indignant and insulted, protesting out loud as soon as Spike made the suggestion, and oh _god_ , every fiber in him wanted to ignore any existing masseur-client/agent-criminal ethics code and reach out to wrap his fingers around Spike’s cock.

Xander licked his lips. “I really shouldn’t.” He made a choking sound. That had sounded regretful, not appalled like he’d meant.

Spike shrugged, a small smirk on his lips. He trailed his fingertips down his chest and sighed. “Pity, that. I like those hands of yours. Well. Do you mind if . . . ?” He let his hand drift down further, fingers trailing along the oiled and glistening skin, stroking along the faint line of hair from his navel to his groin, just brushing under the edge of the towel and starting to --

“Oh god,” Xander blurted, stumbling backwards. “I, uh, I’ll just be, uh --”

He shut the door firmly behind him, resisting the urge to press his ear to the door to see how soundproof these rooms really were. Instead, he forced himself to march down the hall. The staff room, reached through the locker area, would probably be empty, and he could surreptitiously work on a report about Spike’s probable role in the drug ring.

One minute later, he was rushing back, and leaning forward against the still-closed door.

It turned out those rooms were really well insulated. Damn.


End file.
